


Point Blank

by Purplepoctopus



Category: Supernatural
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-30
Updated: 2014-04-30
Packaged: 2018-01-21 08:32:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,055
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1544408
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Purplepoctopus/pseuds/Purplepoctopus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Some assorted Dean/Bela drabbles. Possibly Oneshots. Probably oneshots. Basically this is what happens when you don't want to study, don't want to sleep, don't want to pack, and the tornado watch for you area has expired.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Point Blank

“I’m worried…” She said, peering up in a futile attempt to catch his eyes, instead ruffling her forehead against his scratchy stubbled chin. Her nails, usually posh and manicured, were bitten down to nubs, and the skin was raw and bloodied. Dean could see that her eyes had grown puffier, and the circles underneath them darker. Looking at Bela Talbot at this moment was looking straight at the face of anxiety. 

Dean had seen it in himself many times: over the many losses that he had suffered, and especially when his own time had been running out. But to see it in Bela was shocking, and frightening. She usually was able to keep her emotions in check, hiding them behind a poker face of arrogance and glasses of aged scotch, but this had worn her down to the core, and everyone could see it. How did we end up here? She thought, lying on the dirty mattress in a cheap motel, with cumstains on the sheets and fragrant mold on the walls. 

Dean moved his hand slightly, and a chill ran up Bela’s entire spine. She had been starting to nod off, but the movement woke her back up, bringing their harsh reality back to light. 

“I’ll be all right, Bel.” He snapped, his voice gruffer than he intended. He mumbled a few swears under his breath and used his free hand to grab for the bottle of cheap whiskey. The mark of Cain, burning like a blistered boil on his skin, peeking out from under the sleeve of his flannel. She cringed, going to snag the bottle away from him, but was too slow and missed.

“You must want to share.” Bela suggested, still giving attitude even through her tired expression. Dean sighed and placed the bottle back on the nightstand. The room shook, probably from a groan of thunder in the distance, causing Dean to shift out from under Bela and get up. The mattress creaked with the release of his weight, and he began to pace around the room, his footsteps light so as not to wake his brother, who was sleeping on the couch. 

“Bela, you’ve had three glasses already.”

“You’ve had five.” She locked eyes with him, giving him a stern and unmoving frown. “Let me have another drink and we can have another go.” Dean stood unmoving, looking over the woman in the bed. She was wearing one of his tee shirts as pajamas, even though she probably owned her own made out of Narnian silk, or something fancy like that. Her long legs were bare and her toes were poking at the crunchy fabric on the bed. He knew that everything in him wanted to fuck her, but there was always a price with her.

“You haven’t slept in two nights, at least.”

“And I won’t sleep sober.”

“Half a glass, no sex, promise me you’ll fucking sleep tonight. I’m okay. I’m fine.” Bela knew he was lying through his teeth. Things weren’t fine. He and Sam were barely speaking, that blasted mark was emblazoned on his arm, and to top it all off, Abbadon wanted all of their heads. It was enough to make anyone stress, let alone the Winchesters and her. They had all already been to Hell and back, literally; and everything seemed to hit the fan just when it seemed like they were in a good spot.

“Half a glass, a full cigarette, a back massage, and then maybe I’ll take a catnap.” She countered, her frown twitching into a feline smile. 

“Will you reciprocate that back massage?” Dean asked, returning his own smirk with his green eyes. She laughed, almost purring, and nodded. She leaned back, crossed one leg over the other, and leaned back on her elbows.

“Of course, my big, bad hunter.” Bela curled her finger towards her in a come-hither motion, and Dean tossed a pack of cigarettes to her from his pocket.

“You’re going to have to smoke outside. Sammy will bitch if it smells in here when he wakes up.” Dean added, offering a hand to give her leverage to get out of bed.

They walked out onto the patio, barefoot and probably risking tetanus, and Bela lit her cigarette. The air was thick and staticky… Which made the hairs on the back of her neck stand up. She took a long puff of the cigarette, feeling like her throat was burning from the heat in the weather, then blew out a long trail of smoke. 

“How long do you think before the storm hits us?” Bela asked, looking out at the lightning strikes on the horizon. “Isn’t there something you can do to tell? Counting between the—“ She was cut off by a loud crack of thunder that nearly made her shoot ten feet into the air. There was a second of dead silence, where they both believed they had time to make it back inside, and then the downpour began. It seemed to have only been raining for a few seconds, but they were already soaked to the bone. Dean grabbed Bela’s hand and they ran back inside, closing the door gently behind them. 

Bela walked over to the bathroom and ruffled through a pile of towels, trying to find one that was at least sort of clean. She didn’t offer Dean one, instead using her pick to squeeze the rain out of her hair. Now that her shirt was wet, she saw no point in leaving it on. It landed on the floor, with the discarded towels, and she crawled back into bed. She craved the warmth of the bunker belonging to the Men of Letters, but they were still on their way back from a hunt, so it was motel until the morning.

Dean crawled in with her a few minutes later, his hair wet and sticking in all directions from the rain. Bela giggled slightly, running her index finger down his forehead, then nose, bumping his lower lip open. Before they could say anything, Bela’s lips were on Dean’s, warm and comforting and soft. He broke away after a few seconds and looked into her tired eyes. “It’ll all be okay, Bels.”

“We’ll save the fuck for the morning.” She said before rolling over and closing her eyes, slowly drifting off to sleep.


End file.
